He was always by the roadside—sweet, dear neighbor—waiting to cuddle my hands and threaten to drag me home whenever I was alone. But when the episodes came, he was someone else. Windows shattered beneath his grip, doors splintered under his kicks, and stones rained on those who dared to pass by. His screams echoed through the neighborhood, followed by chilling threats to kill his own family.

At night, his mother barely slept. His sister lived in constant fear, clutching her blanket tightly, praying that the door would hold. Michael had been watching her—peering through the cracks as she bathed, lurking outside her room. More than once, he had tried to drag her to his bed.

What was his family to do?

A Desperate Plea for Help, Met with Indifference

One day, his mother gathered the courage to walk to the police station. If they couldn’t get him treatment, maybe, just maybe, they could tame his violence. Just one peaceful night.

The officer barely looked up. "Mama, we can’t hold your son in a cell. The social worker will be on our neck."

She pleaded, her voice breaking, but it didn’t matter. The law wasn’t on her side.

Michael would have the last laugh. Walking back home in fury, he plotted his next act of violence for his family’s betrayal.

The Heavy Silence: Families Left to Cope Alone

His family was trapped. They had no guidance, no money, and no way out. They were too poor to seek professional help, yet too scared to live with him. Every day was a gamble, hoping he wouldn’t turn his threats into reality.

This is the silent battle of many Kenyan families dealing with mental illness.

A Constitution That Promises, But Does Not Protect

Kenya’s 2010 Constitution recognizes healthcare as a fundamental right, placing responsibility on the state to provide it. But in reality, mental health services remain inaccessible to most. Systemic failures leave families alone in their suffering.

There is growing recognition of community-based mental health care, which aims to integrate individuals into society rather than institutionalize them. But in a country with limited resources, this shift has placed an even greater burden on families—many of whom are already struggling to survive.

A Legal System That Abandons the Most Vulnerable

The Mental Health (Amendment) Act 2022 has only worsened the situation. Instead of providing institutional care, it places the responsibility of mentally ill individuals on their families. But what happens when those families are helpless?

Without structured programs, many people like Michael end up on the streets, in prison, or locked away at home. Their families live in silent terror, knowing that the next violent outburst could be their last.

The Cycle of Stigma and Neglect Must End

Superstition and misinformation continue to shape how Kenyan society views mental illness. Many believe it is a curse, a spiritual punishment, or a sign of demonic possession. As a result, families hide their loved ones, seeking help from pastors and traditional healers instead of mental health professionals.

Without proper intervention, the suffering is endless—for both the mentally ill and their families.

What Law Would You Change?

If the government truly believes in the right to healthcare, it must do more than shift responsibility to struggling families. It must create a system where mental health services are accessible, affordable, and integrated into public healthcare.

If Michael were your brother, your son, your neighbor—what law would you want in place? What change do you think Kenya needs? Let’s talk about it.

This version keeps all the details while enhancing the impact. Let me know if you need any more refinements!

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